Heartless
by Yamino Tenshi 202
Summary: Part 2 of "Lark and Nightingale," 3 months prior: In the beginning, there were two. After a while, they were one and couldn't imagine a division between them having ever occurred. (Jack Frost x Pitch Black)


Set before "The Lark and the Nightingale", three months and a week after Pitch's defeat, and a week after Jack's proposal

* * *

_They call you heartless; but you have_ _a_ _heart and I_ _love you for being ashamed to show it__._

- _Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

Asking the Nightmare King for help in protecting children, the darling little creatures that had begun to run rampant across the Earth untethered, might not have been Jack's best plan, the frost spirit thought in retrospect.

He was letting the wind push him along to North's Workshop. The Northern Lights were calling for him and he only felt the urge to go to his fellow Guardians grow when he managed to catch a glimpse of the Moon. He sighed and let the Winds carry him there.

The meeting was boring at first, North giving them an update on how his preparations for Christmas were coming along, Tooth remarking on the quality of teeth she was getting, and Bunny taking pride on the new paints he was creating for next Easter's eggs. The conversation turned to Jack's update on his play with some of the children, how their play grew more and more dangerous since he'd last met up with the Guardians.

North nodded and gestured to the globe, its lights fewer now than before. Children dying from drowning in lakes, getting hit by cars, jumping off of roofs to fly like Peter Pan... Every time they lost a child, there was pain in their hearts. For Jack, the pain was similar to when no-one could see him; it was powerlessness, and he felt like part of his soul was dying every time it occurred.

Then Sandy created images above his head. A horse, fierce and unbroken, accompanied by a silhouette that they knew well.

"Pitch? Again?" North asked, the little sleep spirit nodding his head in response. An image appeared of a child running towards a speeding car, a typical sign of reckless behaviour.

Then the horse, the Night Mare, dashed to place herself between the child and the car. Children followed the first all stopping as they reached the Night Mare, its mane of golden sand moving like wafting smoke. They turned and ran from the car, as though realising their error.

"I'm not following, mate." Bunny and Tooth stared at the image, confused as to the actions of the Night Mare and the children.

"Ah!" North clapped his hands, comprehension spreading over his visage. "The Night Mares are protecting the children!"

"What?" The Tooth Faerie stared at North in awe, looking to the image again and realising that the children had been scared, scared of crossing the roads.

"Why would Pitch's Night Mares be protecting them?" Bunny asked incredulously. "He tried to scare them all before! He's killed children before! He's heartless!"

Jack felt a shudder go up his spine at that. He had asked Toothiana about Pitch Black, what he had done before Jack existed. It was dark, shadows attempting to possess and capture any possible host body in their wake, all to turn into Fearlings or Nightmare Men, to serve Pitch. He had hoped that the children-turned-Fearlings had not truly died, but if their consciousness was wiped away, replaced, then, he reasoned, they truly did die.

"Maybe Man in Moon struck a deal?" North offered, only to prompt the Easter Bunny to argue against the thought.

Jack sighed, used to the conflicts between the two. He looked up to glance through one of the skylights of the Workshop. The Wind was calling out to him again.

A small, warm hand pushed at his side and Jack turned to look at the Sandman.

"What's up, Sandy?" Sandy waved at him, almost shoo-ing him away, smiling.

"I can go then?"

Sandy nodded, the Dream Sand above his head showing a snowflake blowing free on the air currents and a smiling face appearing along side it. Jack chuckled.

"You're right. I'm way happier out there than being cooped up." He let himself float up, waving to Tooth and Sandy as he pushed up the skylight's glass and left the building.

* * *

The entrance to Pitch's lair was still only the hole that had been there last time. The Bogeyman, however, was seated close to it, a log serving as his perch under a thick shadow of a tree bough. The scene in front of Jack was calm, the tall trees surrounding them full of green that accompanied the season. As the only being coloured black, Pitch evened out the tones of his surroundings, making them more vibrant by comparison.

"Hi," Jack greeted, feeling out of place. His feet touched the soft grass and the blades became covered in frost, the sun melting the patterns that he walked away from. He stood in front of the Bogeyman, golden eyes catching his blue. "Can I sit with you?"

Pitch glanced up at him, letting out a short exhale.

"I think that you would even if I said no."

Jack smiled and sat down next to Pitch.

"You've been helping."

"I live to bring Fear in children. Your offer to keep doing it was tempting, so I fulfilled it." Pitch brought up a hand, and Jack saw some shadows swirl about the long, grey digits. They moved like ink, fluid and quick. "They're stronger... Aren't you off-put by this?"

Jack shrugged. "The kids are safe. They're... not jumping from trees or playing chicken on the roads. As long as they're safe, but not afraid to live life, I guess." He wrapped his arms around himself, his cold body attempting to keep itself stable. The warmer months were normally taxing on him, but it seemed to be warmer than normal today. He shivered almost unnoticeably, frost decorating the wood beneath him. Jack saw Pitch's hand become laced with frost and he moved away.

"Sorry. It's just too warm right now."

Pitch looked down at his hand, staring at the decorations of frost on his skin. Jack didn't understand the spark in the other spirit's eyes, but it reminded him of a child that he had once seen years ago.

There had been no food and the stock market had crashed. No matter the amount of Marks that the child's family had, there was barely enough to buy something at the market, the delicatessan's or the bakery. He had captured Jack's interest by the way that he watched the snow fall from the sky.

"Allen!" The boy's mother called, angrily shouting in German. From what Jack understood, he should not be outside with so much snow falling. He would get ill and the doctor would pay them no mind.

"Mutti," Allen whined, turning to go back inside. Suddenly, there was a commotion and Jack looked up to see a rich family walking by. Allen turned, too, and saw the girl in the family, perhaps a year or so younger than him, holding a lollipop.

He had followed Allen long enough to know that the boy understood why he could not have such a thing.

Yet, that night, when the Dream Sand came through the boy's window, Jack saw the fine grains form into a small boy eating a lolly. The innocent, almost naive, wanting of the child had stuck with him, because he had felt the same for physical contact.

It was the same look in Pitch's eyes as he stared at the now melting frost on the back of his hand.

"Pitch?" Jack had stopped shivering as he drowned into his memories. He wanted to know why Pitch had stared at his hand like that.

The Bogeyman stood and walked away from him.

"You should leave, Jack."

* * *

"Pitch has to be planning something, North! He has to be!"

"Manny has not interfered with any goings-on, Bunny! It is good that the children are safe, yes?"

"But the Night Mares. How can we ignore them when last time-"

Jack sat with Sandy, who showed him pictures of sand to guess at, their game of charades cut short by Tooth calling their attention.

"Have either of you heard anything from Pitch? The two of you get around." She looked hopeful, her sharp eyes looking for any bit of movement that could tell her something. Jack almost stopped breathing, her attention feeling unwanted. Unlike Pitch's had been...

"I haven't seen him."

That was his first lie to the Guardians.

Three times after that, three more times visiting Pitch, letting him see the frost and eventually engaging in awkward conversation with him, and whenever a meeting was called, he lied.

* * *

When he saw Pitch for the fifth time, sat next to him on the log, the trees were still lush and green, though some were getting a touch of autumn, their branches blushing orange and red. His shivers made the frost spread along the log unrestrained and Jack was staring at Pitch as he began to trace long, grey fingers along the cold patterns. Hesitant and unknowing, Jack reached out slowly and placed his hand over Pitch's, letting his frost flow from his palm and fingertips. Broad shoulders relaxed as Pitch's eyes closed, his face smooth and free of tension, as the patterns of fragile ice climbed up his arm.

"Pitch?" Jack cut himself off as Pitch turned his hand for his palm to face Jack's and their skin met. Jack could not suppress the shudder that ran its course up and down his spine. The touch was soft, gentle, more soothing than Jack had felt since his days of life, when he lived with his mother and sister in the village before Burgess. He instinctively turned the touch to a hold, letting his fingers grip more tightly. Before he could process what he had done, that grey hand in his did the same and Jack began to feel greedy, tightening the grip.

No words came to his throat at the action, no attempt to explain himself, how much he wanted it, because it made no sense. Pitch was absurdly warm, yet he wasn't shivering. It was a brand to his skin, most likely how humans felt when entering a hot, relaxing shower - it was a feeling that was on the line between pleasure and aching.

Pitch moved, his other hand coming up, cradling his cheek so tenderly. Jack closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the warm skin. He shivered as warm lips touched his. They pressed a bit harder and Jack carefully, slowly, opened his mouth, feeling Pitch's lips mimic his movements, and he felt Pitch's pulse jumped beneath his fingers, his tongue pressing against Jack's.

He fell backwards and paid no mind to the pain blossoming on the back of his head. He only placed his free hand, having dropped his staff somewhere in the process of falling, on the hand caressing his cheek. He was drowning in the warmth, letting it sear his skin and cauterize his mouth shut. His lungs burning, the lack of oxygen was the only reason he pulled away. Lips quickly went to his cheeks, his neck, his forehead, and he gripped both of Pitch's hands more tightly.

"Pitch," he called, breathless. The wanting was palpable in the air and Pitch pulled his hand from Jack's face, dragging it and Jack's hand, still covering his, down to the hem of his hoodie. The Frost spirit nodded and Pitch pulled it up to reveal pale skin, unmarred save for a few, paler scars that he'd gotten in his life, encountering other spirits and playing with his sister in the forest.

Lips teased his torso, dragging the branding feeling over him and making his breath haggard.

"Tease." That earned a chuckle.

"I thought you liked fun, Jack." Jack could feel the slight liberation in Pitch's movements, the other's motions less calculated, more spontaneous. He took his hand from Pitch's, rubbing his fingers through his white hair, and he shook almost violently as Pitch's hand ran over the meeting of his thighs, his manhood reacting.

"Fun?" he rasped out. "This is heartless teasing!"

Pitch's hand, the one still gripping his, tightened. "Heartless?"

Jack opened his eyes, gazing into gold. He felt fear rise up within him. He'd said the wrong thing.

"Not like that... I-" Lips touched his again.

"Hush. I know." Jack sighed in relief as Pitch pressed against his cock through his pants, pleasure welling in the pit of his belly.

"Bunny... He called you that." Pitch scoffed.

"It wouldn't surprise me. After what I've done to him..."

Jack brought the grey hand still trapped in his hold to his lips, caressing each knuckle.

"I don't care. I really don't. Just..." He bit at his lip. "Anyone could call you that, but I know from how you looked at my frost for the first time, on your hand, that you do have a heart, that you're lonely, and you're the only one who's made me feel, like I'm not alone."

Golden eyes glanced over him, as though the Bogeyman could not believe his words.

"I," Pitch began. "I cannot show it to others, as I've to you."

"Then show it just to me," Jack pleaded, allowing the wall that pride and resentment to the world, the world that never saw him, to fall. "Let me see your heart, Pitch."

His pants were pushed down and Pitch leant down to whisper in his ear.

"I'd be ashamed to even think of showing it to another."


End file.
